I Won't Look Away Again
by Soul of Ashes
Summary: A dramatization of Zuko's treatment and exile... from Iroh's perspective. A loving uncle who merely wants to regain a son, and help a troubled boy. Graphic.


Author's Note: A dramatization of what might have occurred after Zuko's show of treason and punishment. It is first-person Iroh; graphic description of the result of violence, and generally filled with fresh Zuko pathos.

* * *

_I looked away._

The day still haunts me sometimes. A young man's voice screaming into the night, even hours after the horrible torture his own father had subjected his body to. His throat was raw, the tears pouring from the injured side of his face stinging already raw, open scalds.

I still remember the smell of burnt flesh. It never quite left the air in that room for weeks. I still remember the way his eyes looked as he gazed, blinded not by the injury, but by the total and complete betrayal and pain that was roiling through his heart. I don't remember if I was the first one to jump onto the Agni Kai platform, but those eyes were the first thing that struck me. They were both red, bloodshot. He was no longer Zuko. This was not a young, carefree spirit whose compassion had cost him his honor... and his dignity. It was as if the real prince had fled his body for a matter of days, leaving behind this senseless, screaming creature in his wake.

Perhaps the pain was so great that his spirit ran away until it was over. Maybe he can still feel it. I don't know. He never tells me anything.

After I captured Zuko from the floor and held him upright, a multitude of people ran to his rescue as well. Among them, naturally, was not his sister. A few physicians, unfortunately none of them Waterbenders with the natural gift of healing, struggled to take Zuko from me. I didn't want to let go. I couldn't let them take him away! i Not again. Not again, not again, not again/i Reason won over in the end; I relinquished my hold in the end, but I followed close at hand, until a voice all too familiar stopped me in my tracks.

"Let him be. He'll be suffering well enough on his own."

Anger, such as I have not felt in years, seared a pathway into my heart. I struggled to stave it off as I turned, facing the shadowed face of my brother, Ozai. My words barely maintained the calm I so prided myself on. "Do you care nothing... for your own flesh and blood?"

"You let him in to this meeting, didn't you?" Ozai's smile, that hateful, wretched smile.

"He did not wish to fight you! You heard what he said, Lord Ozai." But he would not listen. I tried a different tact. "Brother... have you no love for your own son?"

"There is not space enough in a war room for a silly thing like love." Ozai's smile faded, and soon his mouth was set in a grim, authoritative line. He scowled at me, speaking in a dark tone. "I demand respect from everyone in my Nation, brother. You above all should know that. Because Zuko refused to fight, he has proven himself a shameful warrior, an embarassment to the entire Nation! As soon as he is able, he is... banished."

Ozai walked away.

I turned, confused, hurt, angry, but more than that I remembered Zuko. I could still hear him screaming some distance down the corridors, borne away to the hospital wing. I ran as fast as my old legs could take me and eventually found the room where Zuko was still struggling, gasping as the healers moderately doused his face in cold, cold water. Ointments would not work at this point; they would not allow the heat to escape and would cause further damage to tissues. He was laying down flat on a stone table covered with a pallet, two pillows elevating his head.

With unimaginable calmness, I stood, my eyes quivering, watching over. I didn't know where else to go. But my heart screamed that this was where I should be. I decided, also, while Zuko's pale hands clawed at the white, unstained sheets in writhing agony, that I would serve Zuko's banishment with him. No one else had come to see if he was alright, and I was alone in my worries. The sheets caught the light of the torches along the walls; Zuko's haunted eyes caught the light, raised his screaming anew until finally, someone brought a flask of sleeping draught, whose fumes would ease his thrashing. There was hardly enough blood spilt to spot the sheets, for fire has a way of cutting off the flow of vitality by simply searing all those pathways shut. Even so, the pain was unimaginable. I watched as they held a cloth to the boy's mouth and nose. Still he fought with a tiger's ferocity, blindly seeking out vengeance even then on anyone who came near.

But the draught was working. His distilled, copper-gold eyes quivered and the fierce maelstrom of emotion faded until they slipped shut. "There," said one of the physician's. "That should keep him malleable while we work."

I heard footsteps running down the hall, light and feminine, and turned. A beautiful young woman with long, dark hair stood in the doorway. More footsteps followed, and she stared at Zuko, her long tresses unkempt in a bun. I recognized her as Mai, one of the women who had long sought after Zuko's affections, only to have them turned aside.

Her expression transformed: worry, horror, disgust, worry again, her lips moving - was she saying his name? - until a pair of strong arms seized her from behind. She shrieked out, "NO!" and fought, sending her elbow into her captor's nose. "_ZUKO!_"

"Come, Lady, there is nothing here for you to see!" Outnumbered by more guards, she snarled at them a dozen unlady-like names. But in the end, there really was nothing else she could have done.

Like me. I felt useless standing there. Zuko's legs still shifted, his chest rising and falling unevenly, his hands clenching even while the women, with their grim faces and white, skeletal eyes, wiped and soothed away a little of his suffering.

"Let him sleep now. General, you may see him now if you wish but... please try not to disturb him."

Unreal. The women turned away, while one remained behind, dabbing a cleansing potion over his scars. I could see them now: thick, burnt, blackened, blood-clotted skin that folded over into itself, searing burns and blisters, half of which had already opened. Burning flesh and now the sickening stench of medicine filled the room. It must have gotten to my head. I inched forward, clenching my teeth in anxiety while Zuko's eyes opened shakily, well... only one of them had trouble. The sight of his other eye had been blessedly spared.

Sweat dripped from the rest of his body. He was still in shock, and his frozen gaze never looked at me. The woman wrapped his head loosely in clean, boiled linens loosely, which I knew from experience later be removed slowly, carefully, so as not to tear the new flesh being remade. Unthinking, I reached out to touch his left hand and said quietly, "It's alright, prince."

The boy still didn't look at me. His hands were clammy and strangely cold. Fingers like hard vices seized hold of my old, aching hand. I clasped his just as tightly. A ice compress was carried in a large metal basin. It was pressed against his head, its iciness capable of penetrating his bandages. Removed after five minutes, to let the scar breathe and heal.

This went on, over and over again, for hours. His shock went down. The bandages were quickly changed. Although he was alert, it still looked like the Zuko I knew had disappeared, had burrowed far beneath the burns, unconscious and long gone. I don't remember if I had ever eaten. Or even drank tea, which is unbelievably unlike me.

Zuko drank and ate. A lot of meat went into his diet for awhile, and a variety of fruits and vegetables. These he accepted without resistance. All of my time that I could spare went into sitting by him, talking to him, and even trying to cheer him up with song. When I did that, though, he usually took his pillow and stuffed it over his ears. I brought him sugary treats to tempt him to get out of bed when the caretakers weren't looking. Sometimes I changed his bandages and washed his wounds myself. He never thanked me; I didn't need his thanks. I just wanted him to be well again.

But I almost made him smile once. I told him a wonderful joke, which wasn't why he smiled at all. Then I got up to get him something to drink, tripped, and the resulting action got my foot stuck in a basin that had been put aside for garbage. The resulting chaos made Zuko snort with amusement and raised the corners of his mouth. I got a splitting headache from falling into the wall, but at least I was in the infirmary!

But I had almost made him smile. There was nothing I could do about convincing Ozai not to banish my only nephew. However, there was nothing stopping me from joining Zuko as soon as he was well enough to leave.

When that day came, Prince Zuko faced his father with his still-tender burns, and received his punishment without making a sound. But as he turned to leave, his ship and troops already prepared, he did not throw himself down at his feet, but turned with anger and resentment.

It was the first time I'd heard him speak in a long time. His voice seemed as raw as green grass. This brazen, scarred youth stood up to the one who had burned him, had betrayed his love and trust, and stolen his honor. In truth, I would not have been surprised if Ozai hadn't slain him then and there. Except...

"Father! I will win back my honor, and my place, as a prince of the Fire Nation."

"If that is what you think," Ozai replied coolly. "But if that's the case, I will give you a task."

Zuko listened attentively, his eyes glistening with freshly renewed tears. But he was wise not to let them fall. "Tell me. Please."

"I want you to find the Avatar. The Fire Sages have told you about him, I'm sure. If you can find him at last, and succeed where myself and my own father have failed, then you will indeed be welcomed back and recieve your birthright."

Zuko's voice rose again, his eyes widening. "I'm going to find the Avatar. And when I return with him, you will have no choice but to welcome me back!"

"So be it," Ozai replied unkindly, a hoarse chuckle answering Zuko's footsteps as the boy-prince of the Fire Nation stormed from the palace and to the beasts of burden, who would bear him to his ship.

"General Iroh! Where are you going?"

I turned, having forgotten my place. I bowed my head. "...Fire Lord. Please allow me to accompany my nephew on his quest. Banish me with him, if you must."

"No need to be dramatic. You have your wish. Go."

And I quickly went to retrieve my packed bags. It didn't matter if Ozai had let me go or not. I would have snuck onto the ship at night if I had to. When Zuko mounted his birdhorse and saw me bumbling along toward him, his hardened eyes cracked slightly at my arrival.

"Uncle...?"

"You think I'm going to just let you run off?" Grunting, I hauled my bags onto the back of the wagon, before hopping up and sitting on top of the largest one. "You're very mistaken, Prince Zuko!"

Zuko blinked and stared at me for a moment longer, before the troops were ordered to head away toward the ship. The small battalion was escorted by Ozai's personal guard, to ensure that we were truly gone. It was early morning, and the air was cool; I imagine it felt good on the young man's face, finally freed of the stench of medicine and sickness and most of all, the constant burning of fire and smoke.

Zuko watched me for the longest time, and I smiled at him reassuringly. His expression changed; a tainted mixture of sadness, despair, and hope. Finally he offered me a small, tight but brief smile, before he fixed his eyes straight ahead and glared at the back of the person in front of him.

I felt a swell of gladness. He would need my understanding and wisdom, even if at times he didn't think so himself. He would need me, because I valued, among all things, family as among the best. I had lost a son before. I would not lose this one, no matter how stubborn or hateful he felt toward me. His appreciation was palpable when we set sail on board his brand new vessel.

As soon as we were off, the young man walked to the bow and let the wind, free and pure, caress his still-aching scars. Since he wasn't in the mood to tell anyone where he wanted to go, I was put in the position of keeping order on the vessel. When we were well under way to another port across the sea, I tiptoed to Zuko's quarters and knocked politely.

"Prince Zu--" The door swung open. Zuko stood in his dark red pants barefoot, gazing out the porthole into the sparkling, clear night. None of his belongings had been unpacked. The clothes he had worn that morning were piled into the corner, clearly abandoned for someone else to deal with. "May I come in?"

"Uncle. Are you ashamed of me?"

I froze, blinking slightly. _What had brought on that question? _I wondered. _Had I ever shown him any signs of disappointment? Shame?_

"Never," I admitted. "Not once, in fact. You're a strong, brave young man. Even if you don't find the Avatar--" That had been a mistake.

Zuko turned on me, his eyes blazing with a new light, an obsessive craze that made me flinch away in abject fear. He was only fourteen or fifteen, but that never stopped him from looking as though a raging spirit had taken root where the old Zuko had been. "I _will _find the Avatar!" he shouted, his hands clenching, immediately panting with his anger. "I _have_ to! You don't _understand_!"

"Calm down!" My eyes watered as the smoke from his nostrils reached to high heaven, but he hardly seemed to notice it was coming from him. Shutting the door, I fought through the smoke and grabbed hold of the boy, who seemed to melt as if all the strength and anger drained out of him. He crushed the unscarred half of his face into my shoulder and wept. The spirit of Zuko had returned, broken but not quite gone. It had scars deeper than any that his body could endure.

Minutes passed. The smoke cleared, and I blamed my tears on the stinging quality of the air. "No matter what," I told him, "from the beginning, I will always be with you. To the end."

The boy-prince lifted his eyes, his hand gingerly wiping at his scar to dab away the salty, itching tears. His expression sobered, defeated but not lost. "Why did you come with me? To the end?" Disbelief, masked by bitterness, finally acceptance. "Thank you... Uncle."

We quickly separated, while the boy looked awkwardly to the side, rubbing the back of his neck, his queue bobbing as he turned his head this way and that. "Uncle. I can't find my shirt. The one with the phoenix and the flames on it. Can you... uh... help me dig through these boxes?" A tentative, beautiful smile.

"Of course."

We bent our backs looking for that shirt - a shirt that he had liked a lot, a shirt that I knew he had liked, and made sure to pack with my own belongings. Unbeknownst to me, hours later, while unpacking my own things, I found it and returned it quickly. But it hardly mattered. The thing that mattered most was that I had stayed, and I had helped him even though he had nothing to give me.


End file.
